


How Much For That Kitten?

by methylviolet10b



Series: Tecks [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Adventure, Other, POV Outsider
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-17
Updated: 2012-08-17
Packaged: 2017-11-12 07:52:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/488484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/methylviolet10b/pseuds/methylviolet10b
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What price a kitten? What price a friend?</p>
            </blockquote>





	How Much For That Kitten?

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the July 11, 2011 challenge over at Watson's Woes. And OMG, I swear I was just going to write a short, cute, fluffy little fic with a kitten. And then this happened. There is a kitten. There are people being horrid. There are people being wonderful. There are animals and homeless people. Consider yourself warned.
> 
>  
> 
> PROMPT: kitten (or another equally fuzzy animal)

 

Tecks didn’t like people much. He never had, even when he had people to belong to. They laughed at him, or stared at him, or ignored him, or (in the case of his mum and often the men she was with, when she had a man to be with) beat him. People were trouble, mostly, and mostly he avoided them where he could. It was oddly easy to do in London, which was full of people, but people who usually ignored you when you were homeless and wearing and carrying everything you owned.

Animals, though. Tecks liked animals, and animals generally liked him. They didn’t ignore him. He got along well even with those that didn’t belong to him (that he belonged to). And those that were his (his friends, his family, _his_ ) …well, they were his and he was theirs, and there was very little he wouldn’t do for them. Even talk to people a little, sit on a corner with an old cardboard box that he’d marked with a £ and some other words written by another homeless bloke who could work with the damned things. He’d traded two packs of cigarettes for those words, expensive on the street, but the words seemed to work well enough, and his friends didn’t like the smell of cigarettes anyway, so he mostly didn’t smoke now. He would sit there with the box and an animal friend or two and gather donations to keep them all fed (mostly) and clothed (him). He’d gone hungry sometimes, when there wasn’t enough to go around. That was okay – well, not okay, but necessary. His friends sometimes provided for themselves, which helped. They usually offered to share, but Tecks didn’t like his food raw the way they did. Sometimes they found good trash, though, and then they all ate well.

Tecks didn’t exactly like Sherlock, but he didn’t exactly dislike him either, which was rare when it came to people. Maybe it was because of those eyes. They weren’t people eyes. Those pale eyes looked at him the way animals did, alert, aware of everything, calculating, never trusting of course, not like _his_ animals’ eyes, but accepting of what he saw and willing enough to respect the boundaries between them. He looked at Tecks’ friends the same way, and his friends respected him, which was good enough for Tecks, really. He also brought good things, often money, but sometimes special treats for him and his friends, things Tecks couldn’t get easily. In return, Tecks did his best to answer Sherlock’s questions. Sherlock never minded how much time it took, any more than his animals minded, and so it was easier for Tecks to answer him, and to understand him too. That Sherlock was a loner, always alone even when around other people. Tecks knew dogs and cats and birds like that, ones that went their own way, never ran or flew with the others of their kind. It didn’t bother him, even though he wasn’t that way himself. He needed his friends.

Tecks didn’t like change much, either, which is why he tripped over his words twice as much as usual when Sherlock turned up with another bloke. Not alone-with-another-person, like he sometimes came with, but a man that was clearly part of Sherlock’s pack. It was obvious in the way Sherlock moved, the way he watched the other fellow, the way that fellow watched and moved around him. The other man – John – didn’t see him the way Sherlock and animals did, but his movements were calm and gentle, and his eyes were kind when they did focus on him. Kip and Nod took to him immediately, and even skittish Jep stayed nearby instead of flitting off like he usually did when there were other people about. More importantly, John didn’t flinch when Tolly came right up to him and licked his hand. Not too many people held their ground when Tolly showed himself, much less smiled. John not only smiled, he looked directly at Tolly and then at Tecks, his hand hovering between Tolly’s muzzle and ragged ears.

“Hello. May I?” he asked them both. That was unusually polite; people almost never asked his animals, just Tecks.

Tolly just grinned, of course. Tecks did his best to speak for him, because of course Tolly couldn’t use words at all. “Y-y-yes.”

“Thank you.” John scratched Tolly behind the ears, and the enormous mutt wagged his tail while Sherlock asked Tecks his questions.

Tecks couldn’t help but be curious about this man, this John. So sat he listened to the other homeless people as he sat under arches and in tunnels on nasty days, the ones he’d seen Sherlock also go to: Annie and Dot and Ted and John (but not that John) and others with more difficult names. There wasn’t anything wrong with his ears, after all. It was funny how many people thought that just because he couldn’t talk so well, he couldn’t hear, either. He listened, and learned that this John was friendly (obvious) and a doctor (alarming) and kind (again obvious) and not a pushover (interesting) and much tougher and smarter than he looked (surprising and reassuring all at once). He also learned that most of the others were warily ready to trust this John, and were even more surprised than he was, that Sherlock had a friend.

It was the doctor part that Tecks found most scary about Sherlock’s friend, but it was the doctor part that brought Tecks out of his usual areas and into Sherlock’s territory one rainy, cold afternoon. He sat huddled near a skip on a corner, knowing Sherlock would notice him crouching there and come investigate, probably sooner rather than later, and hoping he brought his friend along. Sure enough, it didn’t take very long before Sherlock came striding up, his coat fluffing up around him, his eyes curious and slightly wary at his presence, and his friend two steps behind him, watching his back.

“Hello, Tecks. This isn’t your usual area. Is there something you wanted?” Sherlock was direct but polite, as usual. It was one of the things Tecks respected about him.

In response, Tecks half-lowered his head and carefully held out his hands. “N-n-nneed h-he-help,” he managed. “D-d-ddddoc. J-john.”

“Oh,” Sherlock breathed, crouching down to examine the limp scrap of half-grown kitten Tecks cradled in his hands, but leaving room for his friend to see, too.

John budged in right next to Sherlock, eyes flickering between Tecks’ bloodied hands and the glassy-eyed bundle of dark grey, matted, tabby-striped fur they held. “Oh,” he echoed, and reached out one gentle finger to trace the line of the tiny jaw.  “What’s his name?”

“B-b-b-boo-boots.” He couldn’t read, never could manage to hold those wriggling shapes still and make them make sense, but even he recognized the logo on the bag.  Tecks tried, but couldn’t find the words to tell John how he’d heard the faint, pathetic cry, how he’d seen the plastic bag heaving slightly in the skip, how he’d cut his hands on broken glass fishing it out and untying the knot, how this one kitten was weak and barely breathing, fur matted with its own filth, all tied up in that plastic bag and tossed out to smother and starve and die as if it was trash.

Sometimes Tecks didn’t just dislike people, he hated them.

And sometimes people were like Doctor John and Sherlock, who looked with kind, caring eyes, and touched with gentle fingers, and helped, simply because. Not often, but sometimes.

Tecks wouldn’t go inside Sherlock’s place. That was unknown territory, and Sherlock’s, and dangerous. He agreed, very reluctantly, to follow the two men to a nearby coffee-shop and wait in the alley behind the store with them until a woman with very long brown hair and similarly kind eyes arrived in a brightly-marked van. Doctor John insisted that Tecks set an example for Boots, and allow him to treat the cuts on his hands while the woman examined the kitten. He got a shot, which he disliked, but Doctor John explained that Boots needed one too, so Tecks made sure not to make any faces.

“I’ve given him subcutaneous fluids; he was pretty badly dehydrated, poor thing,” the woman told Doctor John. Tecks didn’t understand all the words she used, but the concern in her voice was clear. “He’s been clipped, so he was _somebody_ ’s pet at one point, but not chipped, and he’s clearly been neglected or abandoned. He’s underweight, and probably has internal parasites, although he’s free of ear mites and relatively free of fleas. If he was my patient, I’d keep him overnight for observation and I’d run blood-work and a scat sample to be sure, but…”

“Not likely,” John told her.

“So I guessed. His heart and lungs both sound good, as does his abdomen. He’s already responding well to the rehydration. A bland diet, and a precautionary regimen, and he should bounce back pretty quickly. I’ve got some tins of the right kind of food in the van. I’ll want to see him again in a few days if I can, just to follow up.”

“Thanks, Peggy. I’ll ask.” John turned to Tecks. “I’m going to give you some special food for Boots. He needs to eat that, and just that, for – ” He gave the woman a questioning glance, and she held up three fingers. “ – three days, and then you need to meet us back here so we can make sure he’s better and give you some more food for him. Is that all right?”

Tecks nodded once, and reached out with his bandaged hands for Boots.

“Make sure you give him lots of clean water to drink, too,” the woman – Peggy – said, as she gently handed him the much cleaner, much more alert Boots. Tecks could feel the vibration of a faint purr as he settled into his palms, even through the plasters, and smiled at the brighter expression in the blue-green eyes.

“And if he isn’t getting better, or won’t eat, come back to the corner,” Sherlock added, his eyes fixed on Boots.

Tecks nodded again. He could do these things, would do these things, if Boots needed him to. “Pay,” he ground out, managing the one clear word with determination.

Sherlock’s eyes rose to meet his, and he waved one hand at John and the woman, stopping them when they would have spoken. “We will negotiate the fee later, when Boots is well. Agreed?”

Tecks nodded firmly. He would have accepted charity if he’d had to, for Boots’ sake, but he would much rather pay for what was his. And Boots was his now.

His, and his friends. Kip and Nod were inclined to be a bit sulky and jealous, and Jep was wary, but Tolly took to Boots as if he’d given birth to him, washing the kitten with his great tongue, and rumbling happily when Boots (and Tecks) snuggled up to his side. He didn’t even try to steal any of Boots’ food, not that his tongue could have fit into the tiny tins.

Boots thrived, and Sherlock asked for his next four questions to be free, which was steep but fair. Except that John brought all of his friends treats each of those four times, so Tecks never felt quite right about it. He didn’t like being in debt, even for Boots. Perhaps especially for Boots, who sat on Tolly’s back and brought them extra cash from amused passers-by, and who purred sweetly in his ear at night as he kneaded Tecks’ coat with dark-striped, needle-sharp paws. He loved Boots, and Boots was his, and yet…

He was just leaving one of his waiting-spots late one evening, Boots a warm, nearly-grown weight on his shoulder, Tolly, Kip, and Nod tagging at his heels, when he saw Doctor John walking quickly down the road. The man was talking into his phone, and seemed not to notice the group of much larger men following him as he turned the corner. No one had noticed the homeless man watching from the shadows, but Tecks had certainly noticed them. He hurried after Doctor John, his friends at his side.

By the time he rounded the corner, Doctor John was already under attack from the bigger men. As the homeless folk had gossiped, the doctor was certainly tougher than he looked. One man was already flat on the ground, and another was groaning and holding his crotch, but the smaller man was distinctly outnumbered, cornered, and staggering under the assault.

That is, until Tecks and his friends pitched in.

Tolly’s enraged growl and headlong charge was enough to spook one of the men into running; he didn’t know that Tolly was nearly all bark and no bite, having very few teeth left. His weight, however, was enough to knock down the next man. Kip and Nod latched on another fellow’s ankles, high-pitched snarls and yips filling the air. Tecks seized that same man and bit his ear, making him scream. Boots sprang off of his shoulder and into the face of the next bloke over, hissing and scratching. Even Jep helped, fluttering down and pecking at another man’s hair.

And Doctor John was a whirlwind, putting down the men that had attacked him, accepting the help of Tecks and his friends without batting an eye.

It was over in a very short time. The men ran off – all but the fellow prone on the street. His friends returned to his side, Kip and Nod leaning against his legs, Tolly practically sitting on his feet, Boots purring in satisfaction on his shoulder as he daintily groomed one paw, and Jep roosting smugly on a nearby ledge. Doctor John grinned at him, panting heavily, one eye already swelling shut. “Thanks, Tecks,” he gasped. “And Tolly, and Boots, and…I don’t know the others, sorry.”

Tecks opened his mouth, then whirled as Tolly’s head swiveled towards the corner, ears pricked. He soon heard running footsteps, but it was Sherlock, coat streaming behind him, eyes narrowed with rage and fear. “John,” he called, then slowed as he took in Tecks, his friends, the doctor, the prone man, all with rapid glances of those all-seeing eyes. “You’re all right? The ambush – ”

“ – was supposed to happen two blocks over, yes. Apparently someone got their wires crossed or something. But I’m fine, just a little winded – although it might have been worse if it hadn’t been for them.” Doctor John nodded at Tecks. “I owe you.”

 _No, you don’t,_ Tecks thought, watching the way Sherlock’s eyes continued to drift back to his friend, the way the taller man couldn’t seem to help touching the doctor, tiny little brushes reassuring himself that his one friend really was relatively whole, unharmed. _A friend for a friend,_ he would have said, if words ever came that easily to him. Instead, feeling Boots warm and purring against him, he met Sherlock’s gaze, held it, and stammered: “E-even.”

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published July 11, 2011


End file.
